[Elden Ring: My Ending] Chapter 30

Only a few remained who still remembered who Gowry had been. A sage, a sorcerer, a heretic expelled from Sellia, the City of Sorcery (not to be confused with the Academy—completely different places), who dedicated his life to serving Malenia the moment she turned her blade on Radahn.

Everyone hated rot. They feared it and avoided it. But Gowry was different from the rest. His life was devoted to rot, to the cycle of blooming and withering. What everyone considered revolting, unnatural, a monstrous spawn of a dreadful Outer God who had cursed the daughter of a goddess—Gowry regarded as the pinnacle of beauty.

He’d probably have made a great soulslike player: even among tryhards, few loved swamps as much as he did.

In the clash between Malenia and Radahn, there was no victor: the rot-blighted demigoddess, allowing the curse to consume her, ultimately fled, taking the remainder of her army. It’s unknown whether the cursed demigoddess completed her transformation and became the Goddess of Rot, or if she still holds the curse within her, hidden away in the farthest locati… er, corners of the Lands Between.

Radahn, though he remained on the battlefield, turned into a monster. A monster whose own servants wish to grant him release, to put a stop to their lord’s agony.

In truth, Gowry didn’t much care about Radahn’s fate. His sole interest was in the rot and its Goddess. Her final transformation. And the sorcerer saw a path.

Finding Malenia’s “daughters” on the battlefield turned out to be a true discovery for Gowry. Tiny red-haired things, they themselves had no idea they were pieces of the demigoddess. Gowry had heard strange rumors that Goddess Marika and some of her children somehow had the ability to split themselves. Different souls in one body, multiple personalities of one entity, or something else entirely—the lore… er, rumors didn’t say. And did it really matter?

At first, Gowry had never concerned himself with such matters—until he came upon the “children” of his lady. Then the old sorcerer realized his purpose: he must help the buds to bloom. At least one of them. Unfortunately, Gowry realized soon after that he needed help. By himself he was too weak. And so he had to seek out someone strong enough.

The upcoming festival of war, which would draw the attention of countless warriors and sorcerers from all over the Lands Between, was perfectly timed.

If Jerren, Radahn’s loyal retainer, were to learn that a servant of Malenia—no, the Goddess of Rot—planned to use this festival to give an extra push to the slow-spreading curse upon the world, he’d probably chew his own elbows off in anger.

All that remained was to wait and seek a worthy candidate. That was one thing everyone in the Lands Between, dead or elsewise still alive for some reason, had mastered: patience.

And apparently, that day had come.

Gowry smiled at the sight of a new candidate slowly approaching him… candidate. For some reason he was nearly naked, which didn’t bother the sorcerer too much. It even cheered him: from the looks of the unruffled and unscarred physique, the man was a real warrior.

Moreover, if he’d come this far through the rot-ridden Caelid with hardly a scratch, that spoke best of all to his… preliminary qualifications.

“Oh, what a blessing it is that you are here,” Gowry smiled wider. “I am Gowry, a great sage.”

The unknown Tarnished (what else could he be?) gave a searching glance around.

“Where’s the dog?”

Gowry’s smile froze.

“…What?”

The Tarnished remained unperturbed.

“The dog. An annoying dog.”

‘Madman.’

“There’s no dog here, Tarnished.”

“Konstantin.”

“Ho?” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “Could you be Kosta from among the Tarnished?”

The famed Tarnished let out a weary sigh.

“Yes.”

That explained a lot. News of the new bearer of two Great Runes had spread throughout the Lands Between like wildfire. The Tarnished’s feats resembled those of the demigods themselves: taking over Stormveil Castle by himself, then an entire Academy of Raya Lucaria—both achievements capturing countless souls’ admiration. Warrior and sorcerer, he had seized boundless power, or so everyone said, among the scattered remnants who still had their minds.

Word also traveled of certain… peculiarities in the Tarnished. But indeed, it would be odd if such a fearsome warrior and sorcerer were fully sane.

“For a forgotten old man like me, it’s an honor to meet such a Tarnished,” Gowry said, closing his eyes. “I have business to discuss. I was waiting for someone among the Tarnished.”

He had no intention of hiding that he was deliberately looking for someone to carry out a task.

“I’d prefer someone young and strong, since not everyone can cross Aeonia, that crimson swamp.”

The Tarnished standing before him was more than simply “young and strong.” He was a true monster in human form. Gowry doubted he’d find a better candidate.

Seeing that the man said nothing further, the sorcerer allowed his smile to become a bit slyer.

“Don’t worry, I’ll reward you generously if you accept… I’ll reveal to you the secret of Sell—”

The old man nearly choked on the sweet, rotten air at the sight of a tiny stone hovering over the Tarnished’s hand, obeying the man’s will. Gravity magic—an art one could only learn in Sellia from the Sellian sorcerers.

“Ho-ho…” The sage furrowed his brow, trying to recall whether he’d ever seen this man’s face before. He couldn’t remember. “So you’ve met some Sellian sorcerers who agreed to teach you, have you? Quite unexpected, Tarnished.”

The man offered no reply.

For some reason, Gowry sensed that this unflinching Tarnished before him seemed oddly hostile. Which honestly unsettled him a bit.

It wasn’t pleasant to be in the bad books of someone who’d singlehandedly subdued Stormveil Castle, an entire sorcerer’s Academy, and struck down two demigods—at minimum.

Konstantin paused, staring at the stone as though contemplating something, then released it.

“How can I help you?”

The waifu-sorceress was teaching him. During their travels, there wasn’t much else to do anyway. Whether it was because of the stats he’d invested in, or because the sorceress was a really good teacher, or a combination of both, Kosta very quickly grasped a certain… general concept of casualness: visualization(113).

The better a casual user visualized casualness, the more power they could theoretically wield. Scrolls existed mostly to convey to other casuals what they themselves had figured out and visualized.

Arriving at some internal understanding, the man had cast aside even more of the constraints that had invisibly manifested on him the moment he’d awakened in this new world.

Yet somehow, he’d forgotten that if a casual user wanted to casualize something, they’d find a way. Any boundary or limitation, even if it was coded into the game’s engine, was only a problem that a true casual user would inevitably solve. Though sometimes the search for an exploit took more effort than a sweaty legitimate playthrough would.

This was the philosophy of true tryhards and casuals that the man, it seemed, was just beginning to absorb. This world was certainly multifaceted.

Nothing is true.

Gowry, hearing the Tarnished’s question, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Help me cure a young woman. Her name is Millicent. You’ll find her in the region around Sellia—she’s resting in a chapel on top of a cliff. The poor thing suffers from the rot’s affliction.”

“Then she’s already there, right now,” Konstantin frowned. Not long ago, that place had been empty, according to Meli-Meli—and he believed her.

Any heretic seeking to harm the good (waifus, of course) still left in the Lands Between deserved divine punishment.

“You didn’t think to bring her food, help her get somewhere safer, or find anyone who could ease her illness?”

Those quietly observing from the sidelines—Melina and Sellen—surely sensed the Tarnished’s mood…

He was not in a good mood.

For his part, Gowry also felt… a certain apprehension. Perhaps it worried him how the man’s eyes gleamed brighter and how golden light began to surge in the Tarnished’s veins, a glow that promised him nothing good.

What did I do to upset this lunatic?!

“Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t reach her—too many beasts surround her,” the sorcerer said sorrowfully. “Only someone as strong as you could do it,” he added, shaking his head.

But the gleam in Kosta’s eyes only intensified, making Gowry feel something twist inside him.

He was a powerful sorcerer—well, not quite what he’d been in his youth, but they didn’t call him a Great Sage for nothing. Even so, the atmosphere the bearer of two Great Runes projected was entirely unlike any traveler he’d ever met.

An atmosphere of hardcore and casualness merged within one soulsliker. It was not something that could be resisted. Something that could destroy gods and ancient dragons, just to get all achievements.

“You must understand, Millicent’s illness is incurable. Even when the Erdtree thrived, not even demigods could resist its effects, despite their lineage.”

Seeing the Tarnished’s rage continue to build, Gowry frantically spoke on:

“But Millicent’s suffering can be eased. You need a needle… By Marika’s Tits, where did you get that?!”

Seeing the Tarnished produce a golden needle, the old man nearly choked again.

Kosta, hearing that odd turn of phrase from Gowry, momentarily broke his own grim focus but then recovered.

“I just did the quests out of order(114),” Konstantin answered coldly. “This is the one, right?”

The question was obviously rhetorical.

This madman already defeated Commander O’Neil? 

Gowry thought in shock as he stared greedily at the item. “Let me have a look at it. Hm-m-m… Hm-mm… This is a genuine miracle. Crafted by a true master… talented and driven to seize life’s essence. Will you give me time to work on it? It’s well-made, but worthless at the moment.”

With affectionate reverence, the old man examined the broken halves of the needle, momentarily forgetting his… embarrassment.

“You have an hour.”

Gowry opened his mouth to protest but, catching sight of the tryhard’s crazed stare, shut it again.

“That’s enough time.”

“And be sure to, like, disinfect it or something.”

Gowry nearly suffocated, scandalized.

Unseen Melina glanced oddly at her resolute Tarnished, squeezing the ring he’d given her.

Her chosen champion was growing fearsomely resolute and cold whenever it concerned wome—no, waifu. Melina had figured that out well by now.

He didn’t care about their lineage, or what sins or blunders they’d committed before. Even the question of living physical bodies didn’t seem to trouble him in the slightest.

As she could see from Sellen’s example, with the right approach, apparently it wasn’t a problem at all.

When he decided some woman… was a waifu, everything else ceased to matter.

Sometimes Melina felt her real discomfort wasn’t so much that he offered help to so many different women, but that the two of them were no longer alone.

Konstantin, so far as he could manage, gave attention to all the waifu he’d met. Because there were so many, the time he spent solely with her was growing shorter.

Deep down, Melina wanted him to seek her out more often. To ask for her help, to regard her as needed and useful. So that the daughter of a goddess, who’d never really gained the title of demigoddess, could feel like one.

Perhaps she was far more selfish than she’d ever realized. And who would’ve thought she’d arrive at such insights only after her physical body’s death?

Whether she liked it or not, Melina was coming to understand herself. Even if she didn’t publicly display her emotions and desires the way Sellen or Irina (the second of which clearly knew what she was doing and had a plan) or maybe the hapless young Roderika or the warrior Nepheli Loux, who’d lost her own purpose, might do—Melina was still a daughter of a goddess. Inheritance still mattered a lot.

A goddess who was cruel, insane in many ways, and who had done more to seize her own place in the world than anyone else in their history.

Melina respected and honored her own mother as one of her most faithful servants, but she also, knowing too much, feared her.

Melina shuddered at a sudden thought. She felt horror at the idea, tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t leave. The girl stared in terror at the unflinching man who waited… for the quest to continue.

Yes, for Konstantin to become Elden Lord, he had to become consort to the queen. That was obvious. But for him… for her chosen champion…

Did he see her mother as a waifu?

Melina could accept anyone. Even the lunar witch who’d committed a heinous crime against her own brother. Even the exiled Academy sorceress who was actively making moves on her chosen champion. Even…even… basically anyone.

But the idea of Goddess Marika caused Melina genuine horror. And though it totally clashed with her mindset as a faithful attendant, the dread wouldn’t go away—because she knew too much.

Perhaps she truly needed to be… more decisive.

Millicent had no idea how long she’d been in the chapel. It could have been a day or… or…

Her entire life had been surrounded by rot. Rot that saturated the rot-ravaged region in which she was born. Rot that slowly consumed her body.

Early on, abandoned and forgotten by the rest of the world, she simply roamed the lands forsaken by the Greater Will, trying to survive. She’d always been drawn to a sword, and not without reason: anyone who tried to harm her never came out on top. She vaguely recalled that someone important to her used to praise her for it, so she squeezed the most out of… a natural talent.

She no longer remembered the point at which she was abandoned, or why. But she remembered how despair overcame her when rot claimed her arm, leaving her utterly useless, helpless.

Worst of all was that those who helped her weren’t the ones she’d once considered family, but horrifying monsters who mistook her for the Goddess of Rot. However much Millicent called for help, no one came, and so the girl, devoured by rot, eventually accepted her fate, allowing the monsters who hailed her as their goddess to keep her alive.

Millicent had resolved that she’d sooner rot away than become something else. She’d remain herself, no matter the cost.

She repeated that every time she awoke from yet another nightmare gnawing away at her body and mind.

Had she known this next awakening would forever change her life?

She heard footsteps approaching through her half-sleep. Not crawling, not the scrape of disgusting limbs, but the steps of an ordinary person. That alone surprised her, even gave her a flash of hope, which promptly died: she knew she couldn’t be healed. No one, under any circumstance, could help her.

Which meant she had to send away whatever fool had arrived.

Millicent opened her eyes with difficulty.

“Ah...Ahh… Nggh... Who's there? Well, it matters not. If you are wise, you will leave, immediately.”

By nature, Millicent was soft-spoken and gentle, at least compared to her cold sisters. She might not have been weak, but she never picked fights first. She didn’t have many chances to, anyway.

Perhaps that was why her voice, which she tried to harden and “toughen” up, still sounded like a gentle plea and a polite warning.

Her vision blurred. She couldn’t make out the face of the person who’d come, only the silhouette. But they did not leave.

“My flesh writhes with scarlet rot,” Millicent murmured quietly. “It’s a curse. No human should ever get involved with it.”

“True soulslike players pop humanity like one-use healing items,” the voice—apparently attempting a parry—remarked calmly. “I can help with your curse. This needle will halt its spread.”

The figure produced a golden needle from… somewhere, holding it out to her.

Millicent’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel her breathing grow rapid.

Naturally, she didn’t believe it. That a random stranger would suddenly show up, decide to help her, and could actually help. Nonsense. Impossible. Miracles like that didn’t just happen.

But even so…

She ached so desperately for that help. Millicent wanted to live, after all. She’d fought all this time not to let that horror consume her. If what this silhouette said was true…

How she wanted to believe.

“You ask that I stab myself with the needle… To quell the scarlet rot? But...how?”

“The ways of cunning little boys are unknowable(115),” Kosta replied sternly.

Obviously, Millicent, didn’t understand the silhouette’s words in the slightest. Nevertheless…

“It doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. “I’ve decided. I’d rather trust you than keep rotting from within.”

Cautiously, hoping not to graze the man with her rot-stained arm, Millicent took the needle from him.

She had a rough idea what to do with it, but then…

She suddenly turned shy, recalling the silhouette’s presence. A definitely male silhouette.

“Would you mind… averting your eyes for a moment?”

She herself couldn’t believe she’d ever again feel self-conscious. She certainly never believed that any living being unaffected by rot would pay her the slightest interest. And yet…

And yet.

Without a word, the silhouette turned, settling down by… presumably a nearby Site of Grace.

People often built chapels on top of them. Not only chapels either…

It didn’t take Millicent long to insert the needle. She’d endured so much pain and misery that poking her nearly rotted body with a needle was child’s play. She hardly felt a thing.

But she did feel a sudden… lightness.

“Ah…” Millicent mumbled, striving to add a cheerful note to her voice. “That was… not so difficult… but… why do I feel…”

Konstantin turned, noticing Millicent had fallen asleep. After confirming the unsteady young woman was indeed just resting, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Thinking for a moment, the man produced a blanket from some place known only to him, gently covering her and taking a seat beside her. Now all that remained was to wait.

And if Melina, seeing this scene, had no particular thoughts, the tiny Sellen…

She narrowed her eyes, feeling an impish grin rise from the depths of her mischievous soul.

‘How will that poor girl react upon waking to a half-naked savior?’

Naturally, Sellen had no intention of warning him that he really should be wearing clothes at least for the first impression.

Otherwise, it’d be much too boring.